


The Greatest Thing To Ever Happen To Him

by Dexterous_Sinistrous



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Flashbacks, Ghosts, Grief/Mourning, Happy Ending, M/M, Nemeton, Non-Canonical Character Death, Resurrection, Sexual Content, Temporary Character Death, Therapy, eichen house
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-16
Updated: 2015-06-24
Packaged: 2018-04-04 16:14:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4144233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dexterous_Sinistrous/pseuds/Dexterous_Sinistrous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles tries to forget. He tries to ignore the pain. He even tries to laugh and pretend it's okay. But night terror after night terror keeps him awake every night as he relives the worst moment of his life again and again. It wasn't enough he had to face it throughout his waking hours, but he now has to face it as he tries to dream.</p><p>Derek wasn't meant to be the one to leave, just as Stiles wasn't meant to be the one grieving. That was what Stiles tells himself every night, and it almost makes it bearable.</p><p>To deal with his thoughts, Stiles goes into the Eichen House once more, hoping Ms. Morrell will have the guidance and advice he so desperately needs. But moving on and letting go are completely different than what Stiles imagined, and he struggles to find his stability. Maybe hanging on isn't such a terrible idea after all.</p><p>But maybe he doesn’t have to let go at all. Maybe Derek meant it when he said, “Forever.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Forever, You Said

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by and based on the lovely paquim's video [Derek & Stiles| You are by far the greatest thing that ever happened to him](http://paquim.tumblr.com/post/110824772846/derek-stiles-you-are-by-far-the-greatest-thing).
> 
> I changed a few things, (and I really hope paquim doesn't mind). Instead of keeping it a Vampire Diaries/Teen Wolf crossover, I changed Alaric Saltzman's character to Marin Morrell, seeing as Stiles already has established a relationship with her through counseling in school and in the Eichen House. However, I kept Alaric's lines from paquim's video. All credit for those lines goes to those writers.
> 
> I really hope you enjoy this. Fair warning, this is probably the angstiest I have ever gotten in a fic.
> 
> Tags are subject to change, once I finalize the second chapter. The italicized parts are flashbacks.

Stiles awoke, loudly screaming as he was trapped in the nightmare that was his life. He didn’t even know what was happening until a pair of strong, familiar arms wrapped around him. He knew they didn’t belong to _him_. He knew it was his father, holding him tightly against his chest as he tried to talk him down. Stiles released a sharp sob, clinging to his father’s arms, knowing his nightmare wasn’t a nightmare at all. It was reality, haunting his sleep. He could still see the casket waiting to be buried, the others gathered around him as they tried to comfort him. But none of them knew just how inconsolable he was.

Scott didn’t know how to act, offering a silent shoulder to cry on as he held Stiles close. He even let Stiles pretend he was _him_ as he curled around Stiles, hugging him tightly as they both drifted off to sleep.

Lydia was worse. She refused to cry in front of Stiles, always leaving the room before coming back puffy eyed and red nosed. She tried to apologize for not running faster, for being the one that saw it all before it happened. She wished her screams meant something else instead of the foretold death that followed them.

The Sheriff was hesitant when Stiles stated his desire to enter Eichen house once more. But his son’s night terrors were getting worse with each passing day. Every night, he awoke from the screams punching through his body, _his_ name on his lips as he called out for the one person who couldn’t be there.

“Don’t forget your pillow,” the Sheriff stated, grabbing the object from the back seat as he handed it to Stiles. “You can’t sleep without it,” he sadly commented.

“It doesn’t matter,” Stiles weakly replied, taking the pillow from his father.

“You sure about this, kiddo?” The Sheriff asked, uncertain if he could let Stiles go through with this.

“I … I can’t get him out of my mind, dad,” Stiles confessed. “I just … I need someone to help me face it,” he tightened his clutch on the pillow. “I need this, dad.”

The Sheriff nodded, deeply inhaling before placing a comforting hand on Stiles’ shoulder. “Alright, kiddo.” He quickly embraced Stiles, reluctant to let his son go. “They said they don’t allow visitors the first day of your therapy, but I’ll visit you on Tuesday. And after that, I’ll visit as much as you want. Regardless, I’ll be back to get you Friday.”

Stiles looked up at his dad, studying his features carefully. He frowned when he noticed the exhaustion and fear in his eyes. He could tell he was trying to hide it all behind his concern.

“I’ll see you later,” Stiles stated in reassurance, a small guarantee that he hadn’t given up completely.

~0~0~0~0~0~

**_Monday_ **

Stiles hadn’t slept the entire night, tossing and turning as he stared up at the ceiling before shoving his face into the pillow. He imagined he was back in the loft, waiting for Derek to come back from one of his midnight runs. Exhaustion fell over him, forcing him to close his eyes as his body attempted to sleep. He was thankful that he didn’t have a roommate this time around as he clutched his pillow, staring at the empty bed.

The next thing Stiles knew, he was waking up screaming, the fleeting caress of arms wrapped around him. He was thankful the orderlies burst through the door, holding his flailing arms and legs down as they gave him a sedative—a dosage large enough to instantaneously knock him out. He had his first night of uninterrupted sleep thanks to the sedative.

Stiles went through his morning on autopilot, suddenly aware that he was sitting in Ms. Morrell’s office, his first of many solo appointments he was meant to have before being integrated into group therapy. His leg quickly bounced as his eyes flickered across the office, running a hand over his neck as he tried to focus on something beside the impending therapy.

Ms. Morrell hadn’t spoken since she welcomed Stiles into her office. She merely sat in the chair facing Stiles as she waited for him to speak. She had her hands resting in her lap, a notepad and pen balancing on her leg as she patiently waited.

And it was driving Stiles insane. He didn’t want to be listened to; he wanted to tune people out as they talked at him. But Ms. Morrell knew better.

Stiles suddenly stood, moving from his seat to look out the window. He observed the patients and nurses roaming the courtyard. Some of the patients even seemed happy. He crossed his arms across his chest, a hollowing hurt radiated through him, carving into his chest when he realized he had to talk.

“Why does it hurt so much?” Stiles’ voice was hoarse, breaking the silence for the first time.

“You were close,” Ms. Morrell offered, her eyes flickering over to Stiles.

“Close,” Stiles scoffed at the word. He never wanted to be close to Derek. Years ago, he would have laughed in the person’s face if they ever told him he would be this messed up over Derek’s death.

“You were pack,” Ms. Morrell commented.

“We were more than that,” Stiles corrected her.

“Do you want to talk about that?” Ms. Morrell inquired, shifting her body some as she set her notepad aside.

“What _should_ I talk about?” Stiles questioned, his hands trembling as he tightened his grip on his sweatshirt. “Shouldn’t I be talking about what happened?”

“If you want to,” Ms. Morrell stated. “Sometimes it is easier to talk about the person and your relationship than it is to talk about the event.”

“The event,” Stiles echoed her words.

“You came here to get help, Stiles,” Ms. Morrell stated. “And I can’t help you unless you let me.”

“And how do I do that?” Stiles questioned.

“By opening up,” Ms. Morrell explained.

“Alright,” Stiles deflated, collapsing into his chair once more. He leaned into the cushions, watching Ms. Morrell carefully as he released a deep sigh. “Where should I start?”

“Wherever is easiest for you to start,” Ms. Morrell replied. “It could be when you first met, or just a time you spent together.”

“When we first met, I thought he was a serial killer,” Stiles replied, folding his leg to sit underneath him.

“What changed that?” Ms. Morrell questioned, her features unwavering.

“Found out he was innocent,” Stiles simply explained. “He helped Scott. He even saved me from a thousand year old demon fox spirit. You tend to not forget something like that.”

“Your whole pack helped with that problem,” Ms. Morrell started. “What made Derek different?”

Stiles sighed, digging his fingernails into the leather of the chair’s armrest. “Asking me what makes Derek Hale different than the others is like asking what makes curly fries better than regular.”

“What makes them better?”

“To me, they just are.”

“To you, Derek was better.”

“Yeah,” Stiles gloomily replied. “We, uh, we took a trip to the beach together. When we first started dating. Well, we weren’t technically dating. We just sort of fell together,” he partially rambled as the memory came flooding back. “It was the summer between high school graduation and college. Having watched him almost die in Mexico really changed my perspective on the whole thing. It really made me realize how much I love him … loved.” He ran a hand over his face, tightly pressing his fingers into his eyes in an attempt to force the tears to stay unshed.

“Love doesn’t end with a person’s life, Stiles,” Ms. Morrell stated. “We still love people long after they leave us.”

“He didn’t leave me,” Stiles partially snapped. “He was _taken_ from me. People always say how difficult it is to be left by someone, but that’s nothing compared to that person dying. It’s not them _choosing_ to leave.”

“It’s okay to be angry, Stiles,” Ms. Morrell calmly replied. “It’s okay to feel guilt for being the one to live.” She paused, watching Stiles’ body tremble as he focused on what she said. “Tell me about the trip to the beach.”

“Derek drove the Camaro,” Stiles stated, forcing himself further into the chair. “We headed out for a weekend. It was just the two of us for the first time. I mean, we had dates here and there, but Scott and the others were always around. But this time, it was just us.”

~0~0~0~0~0~

_“Smile,” Stiles smiled when Derek gave him no more than a side-glance._

_Flash!_

_Stiles gave a short snort as he reeled the film in the camera. He couldn’t wait to see the results of all the photos he was snapping. He wasn’t even sure if the camera was working—if he had it focused correctly—but it was worth a shot. He turned his head to examine the long stretch of highway they were traveling. He leaned his head out the window, breathing in the ocean breeze. He still couldn’t believe he convinced Derek to go on a road trip to the beach with him. It felt like a dream._

_“Keep your head in the car,” Derek commented._

_“Just because you’re the lycanthrope doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy the wind in my hair,” Stiles quipped back._

_“Funny,” Derek answered in a deadpan tone._

_“Come on, that was a good one,” Stiles replied, leaning his head back into the car. He observed Derek, watching the way he ran his fingertips over the steering wheel, idly focusing on the road._

_Derek turned his gaze towards Stiles, unable to keep from looking at him._

_“What?” Stiles asked, a light blush burning his cheeks as he leaned forward to channel surf the radio as a distraction._

_“Nothing,” Derek replied, turning his attention back to the road._

_The rest of the ride was spent in silence, the tension between them escalating. Nerves tumbled and churned in Stiles’ stomach as he thought about being alone with Derek. They were still in the early stages of their relationship, countless nights spent making out on the couch in the loft, grinding their bodies together in a desperate attempt to satisfy their building desires._

_The first time they made out, Stiles accidentally turned them in a way that forced Derek off of the couch and onto the floor. Stiles had laughed as Derek partially scowled at him. He couldn’t keep himself from leaping off the couch and onto him, apologizing for laughing as he straddled his hips._

_They were like teenagers—well, Stiles was still technically a teenager—completely gone on one another. There were a number of embarrassing moments where Derek’s werewolf hearing completely short circuited, leaving him and Stiles in compromising positions as Scott and the pack entered the loft unannounced, (or when the Sheriff walked in, which was a scenario Stiles forever wished to forget)._

_Stiles was overjoyed when Derek suggested they get away from Beacon Hills, eventually caving to Stiles’ demands that they go to the beach. The Sheriff gave his consent, giving his typical threatening speech to both Stiles and Derek, adding that he was actually happy with their newfound relationship._

_“And when we go crashing down, we come back every time. Cause we never go out of style, we never go out of style,” Stiles hummed as he looked out the window, partially mumbling the words in sync with Taylor Swift. The camera was settled in his lap as he watched the scenery flicker by. He turned his head to look at Derek, watching the way he focused on the road, his hands peacefully resting against the steering wheel. He watched as Derek rested his arm against his thigh, easily driving across the straightaway with one hand, before he made his move. He reached his hand out to slide into Derek’s, tangling their fingers together._

_Derek smiled when he felt Stiles’ fingers against his skin, keeping his eyes on the road. He lifted their hands, twisting them slightly in order to place a kiss on the back of Stiles’ hand. His eyes drifted from the road, connecting with Stiles’ as his lips brushed over the skin of his knuckles._

_“You’re such a romantic,” Stiles mumbled, turning his head away from Derek to hide his blush._

_“You love it,” Derek replied, smiling as he turned his attention back to the road._

_“Yeah, I do,” Stiles responded, relaxing into his seat as their hands remained clasped together._

~0~0~0~0~0~

**_Tuesday_ **

“How can memories like that be so fresh in my mind, but I haven’t seen him—heard his voice—in weeks?” Stiles weakly asked.

Okay, he was lying about hearing Derek’s voice. He still had Derek’s cellphone, and sometimes when he felt the furthest away from him, he went to the loft, bottle of Jack Daniels in hand to drown his sorrows, curled up on Derek’s bed—because it still vaguely smelled like him—and called Derek’s cellphone. He’s waited for the voicemail to speak, and then he’d close his eyes and hang onto every word, pretending that Derek was standing over him. Because after a while, it didn’t matter what words Derek was saying, it just mattered that Derek’s voice was _there_.

“You’ve reached the cellphone of Derek Hale, leave a message with your name and number and I’ll get back to you,” Derek’s voice echoed through the speaker, releasing a sigh before continuing. “And Stiles, stop filling my inbox. I will call you back after _one_ message.”

Stiles always broke down when he heard that. He curled into a ball and pretended that everything would be okay with the drunker he got. He pretended that his heart wasn’t breaking all over again as he listened to the promise Derek made to call him back. Because now it didn’t matter how many messages Stiles left, Derek couldn’t answer him back. But it didn’t stop him from hanging up the phone and redial the number until Derek’s voice was in his ear once more. He’d dial the number until his fingertips grew numb, the empty bottle of Jack tumbling off the bed as he tangled himself in the sheets.

“It’s normal to remember certain memories more deeply than others. Some memories stay with us forever, others blend into our daily routine, having little impact,” Ms. Morrell stated, watching the way Stiles brushed his tears away with the sleeve of his sweatshirt.

“I wish I could go back to the beginning,” Stiles stated, folding his arms over his chest as he looked out the window. His eyes flickered from patient to patient, but his mind was racing with memories of Derek. “Back to when we first met.”

“When did you first meet him?”

“I had never met anyone like him before,” Stiles replied, gently gnawing on the inside of his cheek as he recalled seeing Derek for the first time.

“What was he like?” Ms. Morrell asked when Stiles allowed the silence to fall over them.

“You knew him,” Stiles defensively stated, pushing away from the window as he paced.

“I didn’t know him like you did,” Ms. Morrell simply stated. “And sometimes it helps to talk about the things others didn’t know—the things only you knew.”

“He was … scary. And beautiful,” Stiles’ voice cracked as early memories of Derek came flooding back. He recalled the way Derek used to glare at him, sometimes making his heart leap into his throat with how intense he looked. Then, there were the private moments just between the two of them. Sometimes Derek would just _look_ at him, watching his movements with awe. The even rarer moments were when Derek would smile at him—because of him—and Stiles swore he never knew happiness until he saw that smile.

“We never offered one another a parting. We never said goodbye—I was attached to Derek’s hip most of the time, so I guess it didn’t really matter. But still, I …” Stiles released a heavy sigh as he stared at his hands, his voice becoming nothing more than a hoarse whisper. “I never said goodbye.”

“Why don’t we take a little break,” Ms. Morrell offered.

~0~0~0~0~0~

_Stiles dug his fingernails into Derek’s hip, latching them together as his other hand sought the headboard. “Derek,” he keened, lifting his hips to meet Derek’s, thrust for thrust. “Oh God,” he whimpered loudly, and Derek knew he found the right spot._

_“Stiles,” Derek groaned as he actively started to thrust into the writhing body beneath him. He moved back to sit on his heels, holding Stiles’ hips in place as he tried to hold onto his slowly draining stamina._

_“Come on, Derek,” Stiles whined, dragging out the letters of his name._

_Derek’s hand grasped Stiles’ leg, holding it against his chest as he continued a steady rhythm. He let Stiles’ leg drape over his shoulder as he used it as an anchor to bring them together faster and easier._

_Stiles pressed his head back into the pillow as he clawed at the headboard, uncertain if he could take much more of the pleasure. Part of him wanted to pull away because it was too much, but he was reveling in the precision of Derek’s hips slamming into him, sparking intense pleasure throughout his body. Small wanton noises escaped Stiles’ throat as he bit his bottom lip, whimpering when Derek pulled his body against him, driving into him deeper than before, causing both of them to cry out._

_“Oh God,” Stiles whined, looking up at Derek._

_Derek eyes were flickering blue, their electric color burning through the darkness that covered a majority of the motel room. He placed a gentle kiss against Stiles’ knee, his beard caressing against Stiles’ skin was driving the teen insane. His fangs were beginning to descend, gently scraping them across the inside of Stiles’ knee, causing him to curse loudly at the sensation._

_Stiles bit down on his lip, preventing himself from gasping out ‘I love you.’ He was determined not to ruin the entire night. They had never moved past their gentle touches and stolen private moments before this. But today, they couldn’t keep from one another; the beach atmosphere pushed them beyond their normally reserved intimacy._

_Stiles remembered pulling Derek into a kiss as the ocean’s waves lapped at their legs. He remembered Derek easing them down into the sand, both of them ignoring the rise of the water. Their movements were slow and sensual, their want and desire building with every kiss and caress of their hands. Stiles’ body was on fire, warmth igniting from every spot Derek’s hand touched. He dug his fingers into Derek’s back, clinging to him as they both moaned loudly into the other’s mouth, hips canting against each other._

_“I’m close,” Derek breathed out as his hips faltered in their rhythm._

_“Me too,” Stiles replied, releasing the headboard in order to hold Derek. He clasped Derek’s forearm and waist, fingertips caressing him in encouragement._

_“Stiles,” Derek curled his entire body as his thrusts turned completely erratic as he chased his orgasm._

_Stiles moaned when Derek managed to wrap his hand around his aching cock. He vocalized his climax, ropes of cum striping across his chest as he called Derek’s name._

_“Holy shit,” Stiles panted, his legs weakly falling against the bed as Derek moved to crash beside him, both of them delirious from their shared euphoria. He let out a giddy laugh, his breathing still heavy, his abs and limbs aching from the exertion. “That was …”_

_“Yeah,” Derek replied, his own breath came in heavy pants as he relaxed onto his back._

_“I can’t believe we haven’t been doing that for years,” Stiles stated._

_Derek released a small chuckle. “You weren’t legal for years.”_

_“That would have made it interesting,” Stiles started as he turned on his side to face Derek. “Ducking out of pack meetings to avoid suspicion. Avoiding my dad and his deputies.”_

_“I don’t see how the possibility of me going to jail makes it interesting,” Derek replied, turning his head to look at Stiles._

_“Me being jailbait makes everything interesting,” Stiles responded, drumming his fingertips on Derek’s chest._

_“Being in an adult relationship is better,” Derek stated, lifting his arm up for Stiles to move closer. Stiles immediately took his offering, resting his head against Derek’s chest._

_“Being adults, we should be cleaning ourselves up,” Stiles yawned in reply._

_“Just stay like this for a little bit,” Derek almost whispered, his thumb massaging small circles into Stiles’ hip._

_“Okay,” Stiles agreed, trying to hide his smile as he pressed into Derek’s chest._

~0~0~0~0~0~

**_Wednesday_ **

“How are you doing, kiddo?” John asked as he took the empty space on the bench beside Stiles.

“Better, I guess,” Stiles offered. “They’re helping me get some sleep.” He tried to put on a smile, forcing himself to play the part he so desperately wanted to be real. He hoped his smile was enough to fool his dad.

“That’s good,” John replied, nodding his head in acceptance that Stiles was actually receiving help. “I talked to Ms. Morrell, and she said it would be okay to talk about what happened.”

“Dad, please,” Stiles almost begged, clamping his eyes shut as he shook his head back and forth. “I’ve been talking with her about it, and I just … I can’t. Not right now. Not with someone who knew us together.”

“I didn’t mean that,” John replied. He gently shook the box in his hands to gain Stiles’ attention.

“What’s that?” Stiles asked, fearful to know the truth once he heard the noise the box’s contents made.

“Scott and I were clearing out the loft—packaging up Derek’s stuff for Cora,” John started, watching his son for a sign that he was pushing too much. “I found your mom’s old camera. The one you had taken on your trip with Derek.”

Stiles lifted his head, eyeing the box with curiosity now.

“I took all the film and had it developed,” John explained. “Don’t worry, I didn’t look at any of the photos,” he immediately stated when Stiles’ eyes widened. “I figured there are just some things a father isn’t meant to see.”

Stiles released a small laugh, recalling how a good chunk of the photos was from him goofing around and taking shots of Derek’s body—clothed and naked. “The photos actually came out?” He asked, his eyes still glued to the photo box.

“I think so,” John stated. “Ms. Morrell said that you could look at these whenever you were ready. She said that they would be good therapy.”

“Thanks, dad,” Stiles replied, taking the box in his hands, digging his fingertips into the corners as he tightened his grip. It was the last thing he had of Derek, and he wasn’t loosening his grip any time soon.

~0~0~0~0~0~

“What am I supposed to do with them?” Stiles questioned, wanting to know Ms. Morrell’s reasoning for telling his father it would be a positive idea to supply him with the photos.

“You said in our second session that you never said goodbye,” Ms. Morrell started. “What did you mean by that, Stiles?”

“When Derek died … I, uh, I only had the mindset to yell his name a bunch. Uselessly stating that I was there and that it was going to be okay, you know? But I didn’t say goodbye. I didn’t …” Stiles bit down on his lip, turning on his heel as he paced. “I didn’t tell him I love him.”

“Had you ever admitted that before?”

“No,” Stiles answered with a sharp breath. “I settled for stolen moments, here and there. And the last chance I had to tell him, and I didn’t.” A shiver shot through Stiles as he tried to even out his breathing. “I watched the man I love die. And the worst part is … I was too scared to ever tell him. I was so scared that telling him would mean that I’d definitely lose him, and I’d be crushed. I _never_ told him how much he meant to me. And now I can’t, because he’s gone.”

“Then tell him now.”

Stiles immediately stopped pacing. The room remained silent as he bit the inside of his cheek, nervous about admitting what was on the tip of his tongue.

“There are times,” Stiles started, turning his body to face Ms. Morrell. “When I’m in between awake and asleep, when I can hear his voice and feel his touch. Like he’s still here, watching over me.”

“Some people say that in order to speak to those that have passed, we often have to find a go-between,” Ms. Morrell supplied him with a reason. “A time when our conscience is susceptible to the sixth sense seems to be a viable option.”

“You’re saying that I’m really hearing him?” Stiles asked, his voice empty of all hope.

“I’m saying that Beacon Hills is a very strange place,” Ms. Morrell replied. “And talking with the dead wouldn’t be the strangest thing to happen here.”

“This isn’t moving on,” Stiles stated. “You’re helping me to stay transfixed on him.”

“Do you _want_ to move on?” Ms. Morrell sternly questioned.

“Sometimes, I can’t breathe because I’m convinced I’m going to see him walking through a door. Or that I’m going to wake up in the hospital, and he’ll be sitting there telling me that he’s been worried sick about me; that _this_ ”—Stiles gestured to the space around them—“is just a terrible nightmare.”

“Maybe the real nightmare is facing a world without him,” Ms. Morrell began. “We don’t get to choose when loved ones leave us. We only get to choose what to do with the time we have. Sometimes we have regrets, other times we’re angry.”

“Does it go away?” Stiles asked.

“Your feelings for him? Or the grief you have about his death?”

“Both.”

“We can choose to let go of the feelings we have, but in the end, they never really go away,” Ms. Morrell honestly answered. “And grief …” She took a deep breath before continuing. “Grief never really goes away either. But it becomes manageable. You learn to live with the scars you gain, and you embrace living for more than just yourself.”

“To live for him?” Stiles feebly questioned.

“To live for the both of you.”

~0~0~0~0~0~

Stiles sat on his bed, photo box settled on his crossed legs as his fingertips anxiously drummed across the top of the box. He was itching to open the box and discover the images he captured, but a lingering force kept him from tearing the cover off. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath as he focused on the feeling of the box in his hands.

 _I can’t_.

Stiles quickly moved to place the box on the floor, slipping it under the bed to forget about it. He turned out his light, immediately hiding under the covers as he curled around his pillow. He closed his eyes, forcing himself to walk the fine line between sleep and awake. He didn’t want to think about Derek in the past tense; he didn’t want to think about _them_ in the past tense. All he wanted was Derek.

Stiles felt a small shiver run through his body when he felt a hauntingly familiar breeze caress his neck, dragging across his shoulder.

“You’re still here,” Stiles accidentally breathed the words into existence, unable to stop himself. “I can feel you.”

“I’m too stubborn to leave you on your own,” Derek’s voice replied, a phantom kiss grazing against Stiles’ shoulder blade.

“I’m scared, Derek” Stiles admitted, a shiver pushing through his body as he leaned into Derek’s touch. He kept his eyes shut tight, afraid this would all disappear the minute he opened them.

“Of what?”

“Of forgetting.”

Derek’s chuckle surprised him, still feeling the faint rumble of his chest against his back. “I’m not.”

“Derek—”

“I’m not afraid of you forgetting me, Stiles,” Derek explained. “Being your boyfriend was an adventure, and I don’t regret that. Those memories won’t disappear. But you can make new ones, too. I _want_ you to make new ones.”

“Why did you leave?” Stiles sighed. “You were supposed to heal—you were supposed to be with me forever.”

“I couldn’t let them hurt you.”

“We shouldn’t of had to choose.”

“I wish I had gotten to you sooner.”

“You did find me though. You found me and protected me.” He tried to push the memory away.

“I told you I’d always find you.”

Stiles released a shaky breath when he felt Derek’s nose graze just behind his ear, strong and familiar arms snugly wrapping around his body. “Please don’t let me go,” he begged, not wanting Derek’s presence to fade.

“Never,” Derek answered. “I’m always going to be with you, Stiles. Just you,” his voice whispered against his skin.

“We were real, right?” Stiles asked as his body started to drift. “I mean, of course we were real because we were living, but what I mean is, _we_ — _together_ —we were the real thing … Weren’t we?”

“Stiles.”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up.”

Stiles felt the smile cross his lips, knowing the truth. They never had to say how they felt, because it was always there right in front of them—in every action they did. For the first time in weeks, he let himself fall asleep to the feeling of Derek’s phantom arms strongly wrapped around him. And the night terrors didn’t come back.

~0~0~0~0~0~

**_Thursday_ **

“Tell me about the moment you knew you loved him.”

Stiles froze his steps, whirling his body around to face her. “Why—Why would you ask me that?” He demanded. “Aren’t you supposed to be helping me _move on_ , not lingering on this? On _him_?” He was angry. He didn’t want to remember what it felt like. His anger wanted him to forget just as much as his grief wanted him to remember and bask in the light of the past.

“It’s okay to feel angry about that. But moving on and forgetting are two different things, Stiles. You can move beyond this—beyond losing him— _and_ not forget him.”

“I … I didn’t _know_ when I loved him … I just … One day, I just _felt_ it,” Stiles admitted, staring out the window and into the setting sun. He remembered how they both kept those words to themselves in the beginning. Derek was too afraid to admit what he was feeling, the vulnerability of the past lurking over him, just as Stiles feared that hunters would take Derek away from him. But he felt how much he loved Derek the first time they kissed, Derek’s fingers caressing his cheek as they pulled each other close. He knew he loved him the moment his head was resting on his chest, being able to sleep with him as his pillow, the comfort of his heartbeat underneath his ear drove away his night terrors.

“We were in a diner, in the early hours of the morning, ready to head back to Beacon Hills,” Stiles started, his stare vacant and open as he continued. “There was this jukebox—it only took quarters. I played an old Patsy Cline song, and I was acting like a dork. But he loved that about me. He looked at me like I was the most perfect thing to ever happen to him. He let me pull him into my arms, and he danced with me.” He finally turned to look at Ms. Morrell, his tears freely falling now as they streamed down his cheeks.

“You were in love with him, and he was in love with you. And when he died, a part of you died, too,” Ms. Morrell stated.

Stiles shook his head, wiping the tears from his eyes. “That’s presuming to know the intricacies of how deeply I care for Derek,” Stiles harshly replied. “I love him more deeply than some people get to in their entire life.”

“And you’re lucky to have had that,” Ms. Morrell replied. “You’re lucky to have loved _this deeply_ in your young life.”

“You once told me that if I was going through hell, why not keep going,” Stiles replied. “But losing Derek left me in hell, and I can’t keep going.”

“Do you think about death often?” Ms. Morrell questioned, shifting in her chair.

“I think a lot about how much I’ve been through,” Stiles answered. “I think about how it could have been different—how I could have been different.”

“Do you regret your relationship with Derek?” Ms. Morrell inquired.

 _I regret him thinking I was worth his sacrifice. I regret not having him here. I regret that he’s no longer living because he thought I was worth saving._ But Stiles couldn’t bring himself to admit any of those things. “I regret a lot of things, Ms. Morrell, but I would never regret Derek.”

“Tell me about what happened.”

“He died,” Stiles feebly replied.

“If you can’t talk about it, you will never walk out of this room feeling closure.”

“How do you feel closure when someone you love is dead?”

“You look back and realize that it wasn’t your fault. That you couldn’t have changed it.”

_“You made a big mistake,” Stiles stated, his heart slamming against his chest as his eyes flickered from hunter to hunter. “Derek knows my scent, alright? He’ll find me. And when he does, you’ll all be sorry.”_

_“He talks a lot of a werewolf’s bitch,” one of the hunter’s replied._

_Stiles narrowed his eyes, digging his fingers into the metal bench as the truck lurched over a bump, causing all of them to harshly move. “Look, I’m human, don’t you have a code or something.”_

_“Look, kid,” another hunter started. “We’re fine using live bait, but we’re not opposed to using dead bait either. Get it?”_

_Stiles looked at the gun the hunter had resting in his lap, knowing that these hunters were completely different from Chris Argent. A code didn’t appear to apply to them, especially when it came to annihilating the last Hale shifter._

_Stiles wasn’t surprised when the truck halted, firing coming from outside, followed by several roars and yells. He willed himself not to smile at the hunters and their confused looks._

_“I’m not just a werewolf’s bitch,” Stiles began, keeping his eyes on the hunter who snapped at him earlier. “I’m a True Alpha’s best friend.” He winced, covering his ears when he heard Lydia’s high-pitched scream, causing everyone to try and block out the noise. He took his chance, stumbling towards the back doors. He fell through them, landing almost face first, hands cushioning his fall. He quickly stood and started to run for cover._

_Stiles wasn’t prepared for the body slamming into his, causing him to fall off balance, once more falling into the dirt. His head was spinning, the firefight that he was caught in the middle of seemed to push to the back of his mind as bullets started to cease-fire. He turned over, catching sight of one of the hunters getting to his feet from tackling Stiles. He scurried backwards to get away from the hunter, his hands and feet fumbling as he tried to clamber to his feet. He closed his eyes, turning his head to the side when the hunter aimed his gun at him, a weak attempt to pretend he wasn’t about to die._

_A loud cry caused Stiles to open his eyes, spotting the hunter on his knees as he cradled his arm against his chest. Stiles looked from the man to the person looming over him._

_Stiles pushed himself to his feet, running into Derek’s waiting arms. He held him tightly, pressing his face into Derek’s shoulder as he inhaled his scent. He closed his eyes, embracing Derek’s warmth and comfort. He didn’t even know he was trembling until Derek pulled back from him, settling his hands on his waist to anchor him._

_“Are you okay?” Derek asked, hand gently cupping Stiles’ cheek._

_Stiles quickly nodded, his eyes darting to the others. He caught sight of Scott running towards them, slowing down to a halt when he saw that his best friend was safe. He turned his attention back to Derek, offering a small smile before he leaned into his space. He placed his hands against Derek’s chest as he pressed their lips together._

_Derek released a small chuckle, the vibrations causing his chest to rumble against Stiles’ as he gave in to the kiss. He moved his hand to cup the back of Stiles’ neck, fingertips curling into the short hair at the base of his neck._

_It was too quick of a kiss for Stiles. He would have done it all differently if he had known. If only he knew it was their last kiss._

_Derek pulled back, resting his forehead against Stiles’ as they both took a deep breath._

_“Don’t ever leave me alone again,” Stiles sighed._

_“Never,” Derek replied. He pulled back from Stiles, a small smile crossing his lips._

_Stiles was watching Derek’s features, a small smile of his own crossing his lips. He saw Lydia running as fast as she could towards the clearing, yelling something to Stiles. His eyebrows knitted together in confusion as he turned his attention to her. He was so focused looking over Derek’s shoulder to see Lydia that he didn’t notice Derek looking over his shoulder._

_“Stiles!” Scott yelled as he started to rush towards them._

“It all happened so quick. Nothing can prepare you for it,” Stiles commented as he stared at his hands, trapped in the memory. “It happens so much slower in movies. They always get a chance to say goodbye.”

_Stiles was shoved to the ground, Derek forcing him to fall face first into the ground. Three shots rang out before Scott reached the shooter._

_“No!” Lydia screamed as she continued to run towards them._

_Stiles started to stand up, turning his head to the side._

_“Derek!” Stiles screamed as he scurried over to him, hands immediately going to his chest to inspect the three bleeding wounds. He moved his hands to cover the gaping bullet holes, trying to apply pressure. “Derek, stay with me, come on,” he looked down at him, uncertain what to do._

_“Scott!” Stiles screamed his name as he turned to see his friend running towards them._

_Scott slid to a stop by them, kneeling over Derek._

_“Do something,” Stiles demanded, only moving his hands briefly so Scott could inspect them._

_“He’s not healing,” Scott uttered in shock._

_“Is it wolfsbane? What is it?” Stiles was looking down at Derek, reaching a hand up to cup his neck as he held his head up._

_“Stiles … I don’t know what to do,” Scott admitted. He took hold of Derek’s hand, draining his pain away in an attempt to keep him alive a little while longer._

_Stiles could hear Lydia’s rushed voice as she talked to a 911 operator. He heard her telling them the ambulance was almost there._

_“Derek,” Stiles called his name, unsure how he was supposed to help, what he was supposed to do._

_Derek offered him a small smile, reaching his hand up to grip Stiles’ arm. He grimaced, coughing as blood filled his lungs._

_“Derek, stay with me, please,” Stiles begged. “Please.”_

“The EMTs said that they were surprised Derek didn’t instantly die,” Stiles commented. “Apparently the bullets were all kill shots.”

“Would you have taken the bullets instead,” Ms. Morrell questioned.

Stiles turned his head to look at her. “Sometimes I question your qualifications for being a therapist.”

Ms. Morrell allowed a small smile to cross her lips. “I’m asking if you would rather Derek have to be the one grieving now, without having the few extra seconds you had together.”

Stiles turned his head to look towards the window. “I’d rather had known that it was our last moments together. I would have said more than simply begging him not to die. I would have …” He ran a hand over his face. “I would have told him I loved him.”

Ms. Morrell nodded.

_“Derek?” Stiles questioned when Derek’s head lulled to the side. “No,” he uttered in shock when he realized he stopped breathing. “No, no, no.” He moved Derek’s head, positioning him to make CPR easier. He breathed into his mouth, hurrying to push his hands against his chest. “Come on,” he spoke, trembling as he moved to breathe into Derek’s mouth once more. “Derek! Come on!” He pounded his fist against his chest._

_Stiles wasn’t sure how long he tried. He ended up fighting to continue his attempts through his tears, ignoring the fact that, rationally, Derek was gone and there was nothing he could do to change it. His fists were trembling against Derek’s chest as he broke down, pressing his face into Derek’s body as he freely wept. He continued to repeat words like ‘please’ and ‘don’t leave me’ until he felt Scott’s hand on his shoulder. He let his friend pull him back as the EMTs collected Derek’s body to go on the stretcher._

“I’ve always loved him,” Stiles whispered, this time tears refusing to fall.

Ms. Morrell watched Stiles carefully before she moved to stand. “I think you’re ready,” she simply stated.

“Ready for what?” Stiles questioned as he looked up at her.

“To say goodbye.”

~0~0~0~0~0~

**_Friday_ **

“So my dad found the camera,” Stiles started. “I didn’t think the film would actually work, you know?” He gave a weak laugh as he produced the photos from the pocket of his sweatshirt. “But they all came out. Really clear actually,” he commented, shuffling through them. “But I think this one’s my favorite.” He held out the first photo he took with the camera. It was the one in the car, when Derek gave a side-glance look at Stiles. Everything about it screamed Derek Hale. It managed to preserve him perfectly in that one moment.

Stiles didn’t want to leave Eichen House, knowing that he’d have to face Derek’s grave sooner or later. He spent Thursday night going through the box of photographs, both laughing and crying as he went through them one by one. He was glad his dad let him come by himself, certain he wouldn’t be able to go through with his little monologue if someone could over hear him.

“I think the developer got a kick out of a few of these,” Stiles continued, setting the photo down on the ground. “I’m glad I have these, you know?” He stated as he looked up. He frowned, fighting back the sting of tears burning his eyes once more. “Because if I can’t have you, I at least can have these, right?” He released a small sob, the photos falling from his hands, scattering over his lap and spilling onto the ground. He buried his head in his hands as sob after sob raked through his body.

“Derek,” Stiles tried to stop his tears as he fought to hold himself together. “I love you—so much. I’ve always loved you. And my only regret is never telling you that every day that I could.”

Snap!

Stiles quickly looked up, his eyes dashing over the tree line as he looked for the source of the sound. He could have sworn that it was a branch snapping under the weight of something—someone.

The wind picked up, harshly blowing against Stiles as it forced him to turn his head, looking beyond the grave markers. He narrowed his eyes as he caught sight of an animal slowly moving forward from the safety of the brush. It was far enough away that Stiles could have mistaken it for a dog, but he knew what it was.

 _Wolf_.

Stiles kept his eyes glued to the wolf as it moved closer to him. Its fur was as black as night, its eyes unrecognizable from their distance. It halted, keeping its distance from him as it quietly sat down. Its eyes held Stiles’ gaze, turning its head slightly as it studied him. And then it waited, carefully watching him.

Stiles slowly moved from his knees, rising onto his feet as he watched the wolf. He clutched the pictures to his chest, uncertain how to proceed or even how to process what was happening.

The wind blew harder, caressing Stiles’ skin in a familiar pattern. He felt the familiar touch of someone he thought he lost completely. He closed his eyes, imagining Derek standing behind him, his arms wrapped around him. He felt he brush of his nose against the back of his neck. He felt the small caress of his lips against his neck.

“I’ll always love you.”

The words were barely audible, nothing but a faint breeze pushing through the trees. But it was all Stiles needed. He slowly opened his eyes as the wind died down, letting the feeling go—letting Derek go. He looked up at the wolf, the phantom caresses he felt completely gone now.

The wolf leaned its head up, releasing a loud howl into the air.

Stiles let his tears fall as he nodded in understanding. He knew it was the sign he had been waiting for. He knew it was Derek telling him to go. He smiled through his tears, wiping them away with the sleeve of his shirt as he watched the wolf turn to leave, disappearing back into the woods and out of sight. He took a deep breath, nodding to himself as he looked at Derek’s grave marker. He bent down, tucking a photo into the nest at the base of the wolfsbane flower to keep the wind from stealing it.

The photo was one that Stiles had taken when they were on the beach. He was holding the camera up at an angle as he hoped he was in the frame when he snapped a few shots. He was surprised when Derek had snuck up behind him, wrapping his arms around his waist. He relaxed into his arms, his smile widening when he realized Derek was letting him take his picture. He didn’t know Derek had his face turned inward, a smile of his own gracing his lips as he nestled his head against Stiles. It was an intimate gesture, one Derek reserved for their private moments together, ignoring the pack’s questioning of the lack of intimacy Derek showed in front of them.

The picture was perfectly them.

“Goodbye, Sourwolf.”

Stiles turned away from the grave, every step away from it becoming heavier than the last. But for the first time since Derek’s death, he felt an easiness growing in his chest. Ms. Morrell was right, it was never going to go away, because Derek was still a major part of his life, but Stiles didn’t want it to go away. He wanted the good times, accepting the bad as part of the deal.

Despite the days turning into months, and months slowly turning into a year, Stiles still can’t help but laugh—a happy yet empty laugh, one that lets people know he’s remembering something from a long time ago—every time he hears or sees something that reminds him of Derek. Some times it’s a song he had sang in the Camaro as Derek drove, other times it’s the blurred flash of a leather jacket walking by him. Even though it’s never Derek, Stiles always feels his stomach churning with hope that by some miracle it may be.

When people ask him how he's doing, he always gives them a reassuring smile. He could lie and say that it wasn't hell—that he wasn't still going through hell. Even so, he was happy to have had the time with Derek that he did. He would always cherish those moments, no matter how brief they were, because he knew that in the end that Derek was the greatest thing to ever happen to him, and he would never change that for a minute.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I haven’t decided if the ending I’ve chosen for chapter 2 should really be the ending, and I think I’d really like hearing the opinion of readers. So, let me know! I would really like input on whether people really want to keep the angst smacking them in the face, or would like some fluff to hide beneath.


	2. You Said You'd Grow Old With Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As before, the italicized chunks/scenes are flashbacks. This fic was supposed to end after the last chapter, but I really couldn't do that to my babies. So, I hope you enjoy this chapter and that I did it justice.
> 
> This song ([x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ssZpFRLWIfw)) gave me a lot of feels while writing this chapter. Enjoy!
> 
> Also, the song Stiles plays in the jukebox is [Crazy](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=na5Y9FxR0lg) by Patsy Cline.

Stiles sighed as he leaned against the door, closing his eyes as he tried to forget the night’s events. He wasn’t surprised when it all took a turn for the worst. His feet were sluggish as he moved further into his apartment, pealing his jacket from his body as he discarded it onto the couch. He trudged past the television, making a straight line for his bed. His body collapsed against the mattress, pressing his face into the sheets as he tried to ignore his racing thoughts. He turned his head to the side, opening one eye to look at the plane ticket sitting next to his alarm clock.

It was like a giant time bomb counting down until his impending doom. The ticket scheduled his trip home, making it painfully final. He ignored the fact that he spent the last five months alone in Boston. He was the one that offered to stay and broker the peace with the established New England packs, much to Scott’s thanks.

The only problem was that Stiles didn’t think all werewolves could be insanely territorial and touchy when rejected night after night. And tonight was no different. Although, rejecting an Alpha has to be on his list of daring and courageous—if not terrifying—things to do list, especially when Scott wasn’t here to back him up. He never been so glad he had his tattoo. One look at the tattoo, and apparently he was off limits. It probably helped that many packs respected the McCall-Hale pack of Beacon Hills, and Stiles sporting a tattoo like that meant a great deal.

Stiles _had_ tried to date—not just werewolves—but he usually let them fall apart after the third consecutive one. But trying was good enough for him. It had been more than a year since his stay at the Eichen House. He hated, but valued, the time he spent there. Ms. Morrell had helped him come through on the other end of Derek’s death. She had forced Stiles to face it, to evaluate himself.

Stiles never told her that he couldn’t move on. He lied, pretending that he could love someone again. His father had once told him something similar about his mother. His dad had refused to date, allowing work and Stiles to consume his days. For a while, he allowed alcohol to consume his nights as well. His father admitted that Claudia was it for him. He may not have had the full life with her that they both planned, but he admitted that he had her, for the short a time that it was.

“She was it for me,” Stiles recalled his father saying to Melissa as they talked over the phone, his father convinced that Stiles was asleep.

Stiles sometimes had dreams about being married to Derek. He knew they weren’t real when he woke up, but he loved them all the same. They were simple, often just the two of them going through their daily routines, Derek would always lovingly kiss him goodbye, something he often witnessed his mom doing to his dad.

But sometimes, in the rarer dreams, there was another person present. A child. Their small, perfect bundle of joy named Talia who looked exactly like Derek. If Stiles wanted to, he could close his eyes and perfectly picture her. He could describe her small upturned nose; her dark curls framing her face; her eyes that matched Derek’s perfectly; even her bubbly laugh.

It was those dreams that had Stiles waking up breathless. He often called Scott afterwards, just needing to talk to someone. He was thankful Scott never asked him about the dreams.

Stiles knew there wasn’t going to be hiding it when everyone saw him in person. It was easy to fake it over the phone, or on a Skype call. But it was hard for him to keep the lie going when he couldn’t disconnect. The anniversary was going to come up whether Stiles liked it or not.

~0~0~0~0~0~

Stiles entered the Sheriff’s station for the first time since getting back, his father’s lunch in hand as he slowly hummed to himself. He waved to the other deputies, offering a small smile before ducking into his father’s office. He was surprised when he saw Scott standing by his father’s desk, talking with his dad.

“Keep a wrap on it,” the Sheriff stated, both him and Scott turning to the door as Stiles opened it.

“Hey,” Stiles greeted them, looking between the two men. “Is everything … okay?” His eyes flickered faster between them the longer it took them to answer.

“Everything’s fine,” Scott offered. “Just giving your dad a run down on the witch from last month.”

“Have to try and keep everything making sense,” the Sheriff replied, offering Stiles a small smile.

“Right,” Stiles nodded. “Well, I brought lunch.”

“I actually have to head out,” Scott stated, a small frown covering his lips. “I promised Kira I’d meet up with her.”

“That’s okay, man,” Stiles replied. “I’ll just hang out with my old man.” He smiled when the Sheriff released a small huff.

“I’ll see you this weekend?” Scott asked as he stood, ready to make his way out of the office.

“This weekend? What happened to dinner tomorrow night?”

“I’ve got some pressing matters I have to see to,” Scott dodged Stiles question.

“Pack matters?” Stiles asked, uncertain what Scott was hiding.

“Personal,” Scott stated, a hurt look falling over his features.

“Oh,” Stiles frowned, trying to pretend that it didn’t hurt to see Scott pulling away from him.

“I promise,” Scott started, moving forward to place a hand on Stiles’ shoulder. “When I figure it all out—when I’m done with it, I’ll explain everything to you.”

Stiles looked up at his best friend, searching his features for some kind of tell. He finally nodded when he realized Scott was just as torn up in not telling him as Stiles was in not being told.

“Okay.”

~0~0~0~0~0~

_“So I talked with your dad … he said you got a tattoo?” Scott asked in disbelief._

_It was one of their many Skype conversations Scott made mandatory since Stiles landed in Boston. He didn’t like Stiles being there alone to seek out the other packs, worried that they might react negatively to Stiles. But apparently they were reacting more than accepting, some even wanting to date him. Which, according to Stiles, as a complete no-go._

_“Oh,” Stiles replied, looking down at his chest as he pressed a hand on the fabric of his t-shirt, just over his tattoo. “Uh, yeah.”_

_“What happened to passing out at the mere sight of needles?” Scott questioned again._

_“It’s nothing,” Stiles replied, ducking his head as he saw Kira pass by once more, heading for bed. She silently waved to Stiles, not wanting to interrupt them, smiling when he waved back._

_“Stiles, you getting a tattoo isn’t nothing,” Scott started, ignoring the fact that greeting Kira distracted Stiles._

_Stiles crossed his arms over his chest before finally looking at Scott._

_“I just wished you told me,” Scott stated, a small amount of hurt covering his features. “I would have gone with you.”_

_“I know you would have, buddy,” Stiles replied, gently smiling. “It was just something I wanted done. For me.”_

_“Does this … does this have to do with the anniversary coming up?” Scott asked._

_“Yeah,” Stiles replied. “I’ll show you later—in person. I’m just not ready for people to see it now,” he answered. It was a lie, but he knew Scott wouldn’t argue with him. He had told the truth when he said that he did it for himself. It wasn’t a tattoo he wanted to flash around in demonstration. It was for him. Him and Derek, and that was all that mattered to him at the moment._

_“Well, I’d love to see it when you’re ready,” Scott stated, putting on a smile of his own, but Stiles knew he caught his lie._

~0~0~0~0~0~

Scott ran as fast as he could, the trees almost flickering by him as he ran at full speed. His heart was slamming into his chest as his mind raced with the events that just happened. He was still in disbelief as he ran up to Stiles’ house. He burst through the door, startling both Stiles and the Sheriff.

“Scott?” Stiles questioned, standing from his spot on the couch.

“Is everyone alright?” The Sheriff asked as he too stood.

“It worked,” Scott uttered as he panted, looking directly at the Sheriff.

“What?” Stiles asked in confusion.

“You’re sure?” the Sheriff asked in disbelief.

“All four of them,” Scott nodded in earnest.

~0~0~0~0~0~

_“Is it possible?” Lydia questioned._

_“He wouldn’t tell me,” Scott stated. “He wanted to know why I was asking.”_

_“Fine, I’ll go,” Lydia huffed, immediately standing. She started to make her way over to the loft door when Scott gently grabbed her arm._

_“Lydia, you know he wants you to go,” Scott stated._

_“I know,” Lydia answered, gently removing Scott’s hand from her arm. “And I’m not playing his game, Scott. I’m making him play ours.”_

_Peter’s eyes were shut, his head relaxed against the cold cement wall of his cell. His arm was resting on his bent knee as his other leg remained loose against the ground. He smiled when he heard the familiar clacking of heels that was once a distant memory. It had been years since one of the pack tried to speak with him, and Scott showing up out of the blue the other day hinted to him that they were out of options._

_“Lydia,” Peter stated her name, letting her know he knew she was the one standing in front of his cell._

_“Peter,” Lydia replied. “I’m here, so tell me what you wouldn’t tell Scott.”_

_“Lydia, Lydia, Lydia,” Peter spoke her name with a tut-tut of disapproval in his voice. “You’re so much smarter than that.”_

_“I’m not playing your game, Peter,” Lydia replied. “You’re going to tell me what you know.”_

_“And why would I do that?” Peter smirked as he opened his eyes to look at her._

_“Because Derek’s dead.”_

~0~0~0~0~0~

Scott grabbed Stiles’ arm, stopping him from entering the vet’s office. He took a deep breath before looking up at Stiles.

“It’s going to be a lot to take in,” Scott started.

“Considering you and my dad won’t tell me anything? I assumed so,” Stiles bitterly stated.

“I don’t want—”

“To upset me?” Stiles cut him off. “We’re not kids anymore, Scott. I’ve loved and lost a lot in the past six years. I’ve handled some pretty shitty things. I think I can handle whatever you managed to do here.”

Scott released Stiles’ arm, a slightly frowning. “I know you’ve had to deal with a lot, it’s just going to be a lot of undoing.”

“Scott, what did you do?” Stiles asked, uncertain if he wanted to know.

“A true Alpha, a banshee, and a kitsune,” Scott explained. “We all have a great amount of power in us individually, but when combined together …”

“Scott,” Stiles spoke his name gently. “ _What_ did you do?”

“The reason we’ve been so busy these past few months … It might be easier for you to just see it. Just … we didn’t just do it for you,” Scott answered. “We all missed them. Just … remember that, okay?” He moved past Stiles, entering the vet’s first.

Stiles turned and looked after him, his head spinning with possibilities before he finally forced himself to move forward. His footsteps were heavy, his pulse pounding in his ears. The door made its familiar creaking sound as he pushed it open. He took a deep breath before moving forward.

Lydia was waiting for him by the entrance behind the counter. She offered him a weak smile. She reached her hand out for him to take, prepared to guide him into the back room, making him feel as if he was walking to his doom.

Wordlessly, Stiles took hold of Lydia’s hand, nodding to her as he accepted. He let her lead him into the room. He let his jaw drop, sucking in a sharp breath when he saw curly, long blond hair framing the face of someone he thought he’d never see again.

“Hey, Batman.”

“Erica,” Stiles breathed her name as he moved forward, quickly embracing her as he tightly held on. “You’re—You’re here. You’re alive,” he stated into her hair, closing his eyes as he memorized how it felt, battling the urge he felt to cry, to yell, to deny that this was real.

“Yeah, I’m here,” Erica stated with a smile in her voice. “We’re all here.”

“We?” Stiles asked in disbelief, even Erica’s presence prevented him from fully believing any of this was possible.

“We’re here,” a male voice stated, causing Stiles to pull back and look at the owner.

“Boyd?” Stiles asked, still shocked.

Boyd offered him a smile and firm nod.

Stiles hands were still firm on Erica’s arms, completely unwilling to let go of her before he looked over to Scott for an answer. He wanted to plead with Scott; beg him to let him stay in this dream if it wasn’t reality.

Scott looked over at the door to the side storage room where Deaton housed the kennels, smiling as he nodded to someone unseen.

The figure was shadowed as they stepped into the room, but Stiles knew who it was the minute he caught sight of hair the same shade as chocolate. Hair he often heard Scott wax poetry about their sophomore year. A smile that lit up the room and could make everyone else smile.

“Allison.”

“Hey, Stiles,” Allison greeted him with a breathy laugh as tears of happiness welled in both their eyes.

Stiles let his embrace fall from Erica as he moved to Allison. His steps halted in front of her, uncertain if she would still be real if he touched her. He could be dreaming like all the other times, only to have it all taken away from him the minute he thought he had it.

Allison reached her hand up, slowly taking Stiles’ hand in hers, releasing a breathy laugh when Stiles tightly clasped her hand. They embraced, both of them holding the other as if it was all that mattered.

“I never thought—”

“I know, I know.”

“Allison, I’m so sorry.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

The others remained silent, giving both Stiles and Allison their moment. It wasn’t until Allison released her hold on Stiles that he turned to look at the others, brushing the few unshed tears from his eyes.

“I can’t believe you did this,” Stiles stated to the others. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Scott, Lydia, and Kira exchanged glances, uncertain if they should bother explaining, or to let Stiles continue to believe he had seen it all.

“We wanted to tell you, Stiles, but we didn’t want to get your hopes up,” Lydia explained.

“We were researching for months before we found a spell,” Scott stated. “We had to do some more digging but …” He looked at Kira. She was so much better at breaking news.

“Stiles,” Kira started. “We wanted to get everyone back. And it worked. It worked for all four people.”

Stiles’ eyes suddenly widened, his gaze darting from Erica to Boyd, quickly over to Allison. He shook his head, looking to Scott with pleading eyes. “Did …” He voice cracked under the pressure, his emotions flooding back to him.

Scott gestured towards the same room Allison had come from.

Stiles turned to stare at the door, uncertain if he should let himself have the hope and promises his friends were giving him. His hands trembled as Allison let go of him, allowing him to move forward. His pulse pumped loudly in his ear like his own personal drum. He placed his hand against the doorframe, his body feeling weaker the longer he waited to look.

The room was almost empty except for the kennels Deaton would house the animals in. Stiles immediately caught sight of Deaton standing towards the back of the room. There was a faint light overhead, a small shadow cast over the figure whose back was to Stiles as they talked with Deaton.

“I’m almost done,” Deaton replied when the figure growled at him. “Stay still a little while longer.”

“I don’t care,” the figure stated as they started to struggle with Deaton’s wishes for him to remain still. “I know Stiles is here, and I want to see him.”

“Coming back from the dead isn’t a small feat, Derek,” Deaton replied.

“Derek,” Stiles’ voice was weak, cracking as he released a small sob of disbelief.

The figure turned to face him once he heard his voice.

Stiles immediately covered his mouth, trying to keep his hysterical sobs from bubbling up as white noise played loudly in his ears. Despite the lack of lighting, Stiles could see that it was definitely Derek standing in front of Deaton. Both of them stood frozen to their spots, unable to move, both afraid that this was all a lie.

“Stiles.”

~0~0~0~0~0~

_“I know that this is insane,” Lydia stated. “But we all have to have faith that it will work.”_

_“It has to work,” Scott stated, looking down at the Nemeton._

_“But if it doesn’t, what are we going to do?” Kira asked._

_“We lay them to rest,” Lydia stated._

_“Are you sure about this?” Deaton questioned, forming the rest of the needed symbols on the tree’s bark._

_Scott, Kira, and Lydia all exchanged glances with one another. Unable to mistake the determination in their eyes, they all nodded in agreement._

_“Very well,” Deaton stated, moving back from them. “The Nemeton was reactivated by 12 sacrifices, and has the power of those 12 souls trapped within it. Scott, Allison, and Stiles sacrificed a piece of their own souls, but now you’re reclaiming those sacrifices for your own use.”_

_Scott turned to face Kira and Lydia, slipping his hands into theirs. They moved to stand on the Nemeton, holding each other’s hands as they stood in a circle._

_“You have four people in mind,” Deaton continued. “As you chant, keep them—and only them—in your mind. You’ll be focusing your energy on those four, and transferring the power of the Nemeton into them.”_

_Lydia took a deep breath before she began the Latin chant, Scott and Kira following suit. They all focused their minds on the four names._

_Erica, Boyd, Allison, Derek._

_Erica, Boyd, Allison, Derek._

_Erica, Boyd, Allison, Derek._

_They pictured their four friends as vividly as they could, determined to bring them back. If the Nemeton lured supernatural creatures here with its magic, it was powerful enough to give them back the dead. It had been powerful enough to save Ms. Blake, and that was good enough motivation for the three of them to try._

_Lydia felt the scream building in her lungs, until she couldn’t contain it any longer. She threw her head back and released the piercing shriek. She could hear both Scott and Kira release roars, power burning through all three of their bodies._

_The clearing was dead silent when all the strength left Lydia’s body. She fell backwards, colliding with the ground as her feet left the Nemeton. She heard the loud crack of wood splitting, knowing the Nemeton shattered under the pressure of their demand. Her vision was blurry as she tried to focus on what was happening. She saw the bodies that were once lifeless corpses begin to move, slowly reanimating themselves as they started to stand. She saw Erica and Boyd move to cling to one another, both crying and laughing. She caught sight of a wolf—black fur—as it approached them and the Nemeton. Everything else started to fade as she began to pass out from the exertion._

_“Lydia,” a familiar female voice called her name. “Lydia, are you okay?” the voice was strained with concern._

_Lydia tried to turn her head to look, hoping it was the person she thought it was._

_Delicate hands framed Lydia’s face, turning her head to look at their owner. Lydia felt the smile almost splitting her face when she saw it was Allison._

_“You’re back,” Lydia breathed._

_“I’m sorry for leaving,” Allison whispered, placing a chaste kiss on Lydia’s forehead as she cradled her head in her lap._

_Lydia closed her eyes and thanked a higher power for giving her best friend back to her. She recalled her conversation with Peter once she told him about their plan to resurrect Derek and the others._

_Peter had looked thrown when Lydia confessed their plan to resurrect Derek and the others. He almost looked hopeful._

_“If this is going to work, you’re going to have to focus all your attention on those four. Otherwise, you could bring back anyone,” Peter explained._

_“Are you telling me the truth?” Lydia asked._

_Peter scoffed. “I don’t expect a handful of children to understand me or my reasons for doing what I’ve done. And I don’t expect you to believe me when I say I’ve always loved my family.”_

_“Even Laura?” Lydia remarked._

_“Even Laura,” Peter stated. “The man I was died in that fire with my family. The man you see before you now?” He released a sad, hollow laugh. “He’s just an empty, charred shell of a human being.” He turned his head from Lydia, staring off into the distance as he lost himself in past memories. “But I remember what it felt like to love my family. I remember what it was like before I craved power.”_

_“You’re helping because of Derek,” Lydia stated in understanding._

_“‘That’s presuming to know the intricacies of how deeply I care for Derek’ is something Stiles told Ms. Morrell during his stay here about a year ago,” Peter recalled. His own interest peaked whenever he heard the boy’s voice traveling from Marin’s office to his exercise room. It was how he learned about Derek’s passing, though he still was doubtful his nephew had died. If anyone could cheat death to continuing living a self-deprecating existence, it was Derek. “Your whole_ pack _, Derek included, tend to assume how I feel. And I hate to break to you Lydia, but I can’t feel much of anything these days.” He turned his gaze back to her. “But I remember talking and laughing with my sister. I remember pranking Laura with Derek, just so we could see her blow up in our faces. I remember helping Derek with his homework and teaching him how to shoot a three-pointer. I remember rocking Cora to sleep as I sang to her. So, do not presume to know a villain.”_

_“Even with motive, it was still murder,” Lydia nearly whispered, unable to deny that in the end she felt sorry for Peter. She stood, turning to leave with the information Peter had given her._

_“You’re wrong, you know,” Peter called after her._

_Lydia allowed Peter to get the better of her, stopping her steps as she turned her head and waited for him to speak._

_“You’re assuming my motive was because of the anger I felt at losing my family,” Peter explained. “But the truth is, I can’t_ feel _a damn thing anymore. Scott thought leaving me alive was a gift, he was wrong. Death would have been a far kinder gift.”_

_Lydia turned around to face him once more. “You want Derek to live. You want him to have the happiness he never got.”_

_Peter smiled. “That’s my girl. That’s why I always liked you, Lydia. You always know how to connect the dots.”_

_“What about Malia?” Lydia asked._

_“What about her?” Peter questioned._

_“You’re her father,” Lydia stated._

_“I don’t even have the memories of conceiving her, nor do I even know her mother. But biological parents aren’t truly parents,” Peter stated. “She dodged a bullet by barely having to know me,” he weakly added._

_“I don’t believe you,” Lydia stated. “Any of this.”_

_Peter looked up at her, watching her carefully as he let her words sink in._

_“I think you still_ feel _. And I think the reason you let yourself remain here is because you are punishing yourself for all that you’ve done. And right now, you’re helping me because you want your family to be happy, and you know that with all that you’ve done, and all you could do, they’re better off without your presence.”_

_Peter offered a sad smile, before stating, “Tell my nephew to not squander this second chance like I did mine.”_

~0~0~0~0~0~

“His pulse is normal,” Deaton stated, placing his stethoscope around his neck. The entire pack was huddled around Stiles’ unconscious form resting on the table in the operating room.

“I know his pulse is normal, I can hear it,” Derek bit back.

“Stiles has a history of fainting under pressure,” Scott replied in a reassuring tone.

“He once fainted when I first took him to Disney Land,” the Sheriff commented.

“How old was he?” Derek asked.

“Six,” the Sheriff sheepishly replied.

Derek released a nervous sigh, annoyed that no one was being helpful.

“Derek, the boy just experienced getting three people back who he thought to be dead for years. He just buried _you_ a year ago,” Deaton explained. “If he was going to faint any time in his life, I would say he gets a pass for this.”

“I’m not mad he fainted, I’m concerned about him,” Derek snapped.

“Want me to bitch slap him awake?” Erica offered.

Derek released a faint growl, not in the mood for anyone’s jokes.

“I keep forgetting that you’re not the Alpha anymore,” Erica commented, seemingly unaffected by Derek’s displeasure with her comment.

“Could everyone please stop it?” Allison questioned, trying to keep control of the situation.

“Maybe I should take him home,” the Sheriff offered. “Get him to calm down some.”

“I’ve given him some sedatives, just to keep him comfortably asleep. It will give us time to discuss a plan,” Deaton explained. He scanned the group before asking, “Didn’t Stiles have night terrors after Derek’s death?”

Scott, Lydia, Kira, and the Sheriff all exchanged a knowing look, hesitant to answer the question in front of Derek.

“I’m confused,” Erica commented, Boyd and Allison looking thankful that someone was making a note.

“Stiles took all of your deaths pretty hard,” the Sheriff started. “Especially Allison’s, because he felt responsible.”

“Oh, God,” Allison breathed, looking at Lydia in hopes she’d let her down easy—maybe confess that it wasn’t as bad as it seemed.

“He blamed himself for everything the Nogitsune did,” Lydia explained. “He had night terrors here and there, ever since the Nogitsune left him.”

“The Nogitsune,” Boyd echoed.

“That’s that crazed fox thing Allison told us about on the ride here, right?” Erica questioned. “The thing that tried to cause chaos and everything.”

“Yeah,” Derek gruffly replied, his hand still not moving from Stiles’.

“We thought the night terrors were never going to stop,” the Sheriff stated. “They started to happen less the more Stiles focused on pack stuff.” He glanced over the kids before his eyes landed on Derek. “I thought it was because of pack. But Stiles told me, the reason the night terrors came back after Derek died … He felt vulnerable. He wasn’t used to waking up alone.”

Erica turned her head to look at Derek. Allison and Boyd followed suit.

Derek’s eyes flickered between the three. He noticed how Erica mouth began to fall open in understanding; Boyd simply shook his head in understanding, as if it should have been obviously all along; Allison tilted her head to the side, still unsure. “Stiles and I are dating,” he plainly stated, surprised no one caught on to the fact that he was holding Stiles’ hand.

“You owe me fifty bucks,” Boyd stated to Erica with a smile.

“I told you,” Lydia said in a singsong voice as Allison made a small giggle under her breath.

“He went to Eichen House because of the night terrors?” Scott asked the Sheriff. He knew his best friend well enough to know better than to ever bring it up in conversation after Stiles firmly told Scott he never wanted to talk about his stay.

“He said he needed someone to help him face it,” the Sheriff eyed Derek, taking in his response. “That we were all trying to shield him from it.”

“He willingly went back in Eichen House?” Derek questioned. He had been concerned about Stiles the minute the bullets pierced through his body. He knew that Stiles would be affected whether he lived through it or not. But he never imagined that Stiles would be driven back into Eichen House.

“He had to, Derek,” the Sheriff explained. “He wasn’t getting sleep; it was worse than with the Nogitsune. He’d be asleep for a few minutes before he woke up screaming your name. And then he’d start crying the second he realized his worst nightmare was reality. After a while he stopped sleeping all together because of it.”

“So you _let_ him go back into that place?” Derek snapped. He knew it was misplaced anger, but he didn’t want to think of Stiles being locked up in that place.

“He begged me,” the Sheriff’s voice was stern as he spoke. He knew Derek was upset with himself, and was angry that he wasn’t around to do anything over the past year. “What was I supposed to do when my son begs me to let him go back into a mental institution, because he can’t get through a day without suffering a panic attack?”

Derek ducked his head, watching Stiles’ sleeping form. He gently cupped Stiles’ hand in both of his own. “I’m sorry,” he finally uttered, but he wasn’t sure who he was apologizing to. “I didn’t know he’d be that badly affected. But I couldn’t …” His voice trailed off when he felt a hand resting on his shoulder. He turned his head to the side to see that it was the Sheriff.

“I know, son,” the Sheriff stated, firmly squeezing Derek’s shoulder in a reassuring manner. “I don’t blame you for any of that. You saved his life by giving up your own, and I’m grateful for that.”

“I think from now on, we should have a no life-sacrificing policy,” Lydia stated, lightening the mood as everyone offered up a small laugh.

“Whether Stiles stays here or goes home,” Deaton started, changing the subject back to the original line of thought. “I think Derek should be within Stiles’ viewing distance for when he wakes up.”

“You think he’ll think it’s all a dream?” Scott questioned.

“I think Stiles has had this dream too often to believe it’s a reality,” Deaton offered.

“Could it be any of us?” Allison questioned.

“Fat chance there,” Erica scoffed. “Do you really think sourwolf here”—she gestured towards Derek—“is going to let our favorite little spaz out of his sight now that they’re dating?”

“They do display a lot of affection when together,” Scott commented. He smiled when Derek shot him a glare with no heat behind it.

“Allison may have a point,” Deaton broke through their digression. “Though, Derek should be present for when Stiles wakes now. After that, it may be good for at least one of you to always be in his presence, at least for a while. It will help him to start coping with the fact that this is real.”

“Mandatory pack night at the loft once a week,” Erica stated. “I have never seen this place, and I for one need to see Derek’s broody Batman layer.”

“It’s pretty broody,” Boyd replied.

“Danny threw one of his raves there,” Allison replied, a fond smile at the memory.

“No way,” Erica asked in disbelief. “Derek, you never let us do stuff like that,” she started to complain.

“What did you want to do, throw a party in the condemned subway station?” Derek replied.

“You are throwing me a sweet sixteen, eighteen, and however old I should be right now,” Erica pointed at Derek as she spoke, suddenly realizing that they didn’t even know how long they have missed.

“We just graduated college,” Scott chimed in.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Erica replied. “I missed turning twenty-one?!”

“I will throw you a twenty-first birthday party if you calm down,” Derek stated in a deadpan tone.

Erica stuck her tongue out at Derek.

Derek’s gaze drifted back to Stiles, carefully watching him as the others fell into their own side conversations. He watched the slow rise and fall of his chest, focusing on the familiar and comforting sound of Stiles’ heartbeat. He was so sorry he missed a moment of this; that he caused Stiles such pain and suffering. He never imagined that he’d find happiness in this lifetime, but then Stiles came along and changed all that. He thought he had lost it all a year ago as he laid on the ground, bullets buried in his chest as his body refused to heal, staring up at Stiles as he cried and begged him not to leave him. He wanted nothing more than to comfort him, to honestly tell him that it was going to be okay. He was angry that the first time he ever wanted to heal—to live—and his body wasn’t going to. He had tried so many times before then to sacrifice himself for the fight in hopes that his pain would end with his life. And the minute he found happiness—the minute he had Stiles—the universe wanted to take that away from him.

~0~0~0~0~0~

_“Because you’re the only person I know who still carries loose change,” Stiles replied with a cocky smile as he fished a couple of quarters from Derek’s jacket. He placed a quick kiss on his lips, enjoying how natural and easy it was. He quickly moved over to the jukebox, humming some unknown melody to himself as he tapped his foot to the beat, flipping through the songs to select from. He smiled when he recognized one of his mom’s old favorites._

_Derek leaned against the counter, watching Stiles pick through the songs. They had a while before having to leave to beat the traffic. But Derek wasn’t in a hurry, and he had a feeling that neither was Stiles. They were both still basking in the glow of the previous night. Derek had been unwilling to let Stiles slip from his arms this morning, no matter how much proper reasoning Stiles had. He easily persuaded another hour out of Stiles, paying careful attention to every inch of his body as he showered him in kisses._

_Crazy, I’m crazy for feeling so lonely_

_I’m crazy, crazy for feeling so blue_

_I knew you’d love me as long as you wanted_

_And then someday you’d leave me for somebody new_

_Stiles swayed back and forth in beat with the music, glancing over his shoulder to look at Derek. He smiled when he noticed he was watching him. He turned to face him, slowly reaching his arm out to him in offering. He ignored the way the young couple at the end of the counter cast him a look to tell him they were mocking his actions. He ignored the way the old waitress smiled at him as if she was recalling her own fond memories to the song._

_Derek gave one of his slightly dramatic sighs before he finally stood, removing his jacket to place on one of the stools. He moved away from the counter and towards Stiles. He allowed Stiles to smugly clasp his right hand with his left, moving in close to him. He slipped his other hand around Stiles’ waist, holding the small of his back._

_Stiles hid behind his cocky grin, desperate to hide his blush. He placed his other hand on Derek’s shoulder, smiling at him as they swayed back and forth to the beat._

_Worry, why do I let myself worry?_

_Wondering what in the world did I do?_

_Crazy for thinking that my love could hold you_

_I’m crazy for trying and crazy for crying_

_“You do know this song is about breaking up, right?” Derek questioned, ignoring the way the new customers looked at them, uncertain if they should still enter the diner._

_“But it’s very us,” Stiles commented._

_“Break up songs are very us,” Derek mused. “Good to know.”_

_“If you listen to the lyrics,” Stiles started, fixing Derek with a small, sarcastic ‘ha, ha, you’re very funny’ look. “You would see that it’s accurate.”_

_“Are you telling me you cry about us a lot?”_

_“You don’t have a romantic bone in your body,” Stiles huffed, letting his hands fall from Derek as he started to feel foolish for getting him to dance._

_Derek held onto Stiles hand, pulling him in closer as he prevented him from parting. He took Stiles by surprise when he pressed his lips to his, preventing any former protests Stiles had in mind. He continued the kiss until he felt Stiles’ resolve to pout melt away, his body pushing into Derek’s with every second. He slowly pulled back, smiling when Stiles released a faint whimper of protest. He placed a quick kiss on the tip of Stiles’ nose, preening when he saw the blush rush along Stiles’ neck. “I’m just a bit crazy about you,” he whispered against Stiles’ lips. He smiled when Stiles released a laugh, holding Derek closer to him as he rested their temples together._

_And I’m crazy for loving you_

_Crazy for thinking that my love could hold you_

_I’m crazy for trying and crazy for crying_

_And I’m crazy for loving you_

~0~0~0~0~0~

Stiles bolted upright out of bed, scanning his room for a sign. He was home, which made sense if he decided to stay the night at his dad’s and not his apartment. What didn’t make sense was his dream. He hadn’t dreamed about Derek in months, his daydreams holding Derek hostage. His dreams had verged from the flashback route, but tonight’s were different. That was one of his favorite memories involving Derek. It was the first time Derek caved and was playful with him. It was the first time he definitely knew he loved Derek, and he knew Derek loved him. He shook his head to forget that thought, quickly running through the events of the day.

_Did some research. Talked with the Patterson Pack. Movie night with Dad … Scott came over. We went to Deaton’s and …_

Stiles’ eyes widened as he recalled everything that happened. _Erica. Boyd. Allison …_

“Derek.”

Stiles threw his sheets back from his body, somehow managing to gracefully fall on his feet as he started to move towards his door. A lump welled up in his throat when he heard his dad speaking to someone downstairs. He moved as silently as he could, knowing that if it was Derek, he’d know he was awake in a second. He moved to sit at the top of the stairs as he listened to the voices.

“I forgot about that,” the Sheriff laughed with Derek.

A small silence grew between them before Derek finally asked the question that was gnawing at the back of his mind the moment he was breathing again.

“How … how is he?” Derek weakly asked.

“He has his good days and his bad,” the Sheriff explained. “Mostly good days now.” He looked down at the coffee mug in his hand, a small frown forming. “There are some days, I catch him just staring off into the distance, like he’s recalling some far off memory. And I know he’s thinking about you. I thought that if I talked to him, it’d shake him out of it, you know? But Stiles … he’s so much stronger than me. He just puts on a smile when he turns to look at me.” He thought about the first time he asked Stiles if he was okay.

Stiles had been staring out the loft window, his body rigid as he stood only a couple of feet from where Derek’s bed had been—a bed he had shared countless nights with Derek. It was replaced by a corkboard Lydia had arranged to accommodate their research, hoping that not having to face the investigation board in his room would make Stiles feel better.

Stiles hated the board and missed the bed it replaced.

Stiles was caught in his own memory of the first fight he and Derek had in the loft. He remembered the way he released an aggravated scream when Derek merely crossed his arms over his chest and opted to keep silent. He couldn’t recall what the argument was about—which he thought was stupid, because it had to be important if they thought they had to fight about it—but he remembered them snapping back and forth. It ended with Stiles yelling that he hated Derek before dashing out the door. He was back the next day, feeling foolish and missing Derek more than he thought possible. He didn’t bother to greet Scott as he made a direct b-line for Derek. He was happy when Derek met him half way, letting Stiles practically jump him to wrap his legs around his waist. He could even hear Lydia’s small laugh of approval, countering Scott’s groaning noise of disgust at seeing his best friend making out with Derek.

The memory faded when his father surprised Stiles with a hand on his shoulder. He turned his head to look at him.

“You okay, kiddo?” the Sheriff asked, offering him a small smile for comfort.

Stiles buried the pain he felt welling in his chest, immediately smiling. He knew it was probably small enough to be unconvincing but big enough to be insincere.

“I’m fine, dad,” Stiles stated as he turned his attention back to the group.

“I never wanted this for him,” Derek stated, setting his coffee mug on the table as he pulled the Sheriff from the memory.

“You know him, he wouldn’t have it any other way,” the Sheriff replied.

“Scott said he just got back from New England,” Derek started. “Does he live there?”

“No,” the Sheriff shook his head. “He went there to broker some kind of ally agreement with a pack there. He … he did some stupid things, but apparently they helped.”

Derek scrunched his nose, uncertain he wanted to know what “stupid things” Stiles got himself into.

“Nothing bad,” the Sheriff immediately stated. “He got a tattoo,” he sighed. “He said it marked him as part of Scott’s pack, so the werewolves apparently took him more seriously.”

“Stiles faints when he sees needles,” Derek stated.

“Apparently the kid has outgrown that,” the Sheriff shrugged.

Derek nodded, gently turning his mug in circles to distract himself from the growing silence.

“You can ask me what you want to ask me,” the Sheriff suddenly stated.

Derek looked up, somewhat surprised the Sheriff actually called his awkward bluff of buying himself time until Stiles woke up.

“I may not be a werewolf, but I’m a cop,” the Sheriff replied. “I also raised Stiles, so I know when to detect a lie or a dodge. And you’re dodging.”

Derek couldn’t help the small smile that crossed his lips. It reminded him of the talks he used to have with his father. His mother knew that pressuring him wouldn’t get a word out of him. But calling him on his bluff? His dad knew that that was the way to get him to talk.

“I had a question for you, sir,” Derek started.

The Sheriff immediately put up his hand to stop Derek. “Derek, I’ve entrusted Stiles to you for years now. You’ve _earned_ the right to call me John. Plus, you’re pretty much family now.”

Derek ducked his head, not used to the idea of being part of a family again. He nodded, ignoring the way his stomach knotted.

“John,” Derek started once more. “I know it’s been a year since you spoke to me about it, but I was wondering if there was still room on your task force.”

John’s eyebrows furrowed as he leaned forward, resting his arms against the edge of the table. “Are you sure you want to stay here, son?”

Derek paused, uncertain of John’s intentions in asking him that. Perhaps the Sheriff didn’t want Derek to stay in Beacon Hills. Perhaps he wanted Derek to give Stiles a chance of fully moving on. It was the thought of leaving Stiles that made Derek sick.

“Stiles told me the reason you left those times before were because of the memories this place holds for you,” John started. “Sometimes memories like those are too painful to face everyday.”

Derek shifted in his chair, thinking about the past. He used to focus on the negative more times than not: the next threat, his past mistakes, their losses. But after a while, he became anchored on the pack more than anything. His anger slowly slipped away to be replaced by his pack—the people he came to love and care about as a family. And at the dead center of it was Stiles.

“With all due respect, si—um, John,” Derek started, clearing his throat before continuing. “Beacon Hills will always be my home, regardless of the tragedies I’ve suffered here. But even more so … Stiles makes all of that go away.” He looked up at the Sheriff. “I look at him, and all that pain and anger at the past … it just disappears.”

The Sheriff smiled, nodding to himself. He started to stand, motioning a hand to Derek to remain sitting. “I have to head into the station to fill out some paper work,” he explained. “I’m going to have one hell of a time explaining away you and the others.”

Derek ignored the Sheriff’s gesture for him to remain seated as he followed him over to the front door. “Is Argent—”

“Chris is headed back as we speak,” John stated. “He jumped on the first flight from Paris, Isaac in tow. Scott said your sister is headed up here from South America, too.”

“It’s not every day you get someone back, especially a family member,” Derek concluded.

John glanced at Derek as he pulled his uniform jacket on, carefully watching him. It was often easy for him—and practically everyone else—to see Derek as an adult. But all he could see was a kid. The kid he broke the news to about his parents’ death all those years ago. He rested a firm hand on Derek’s shoulder, giving him a small, reassuring squeeze.

Derek waited for the Sheriff to depart from the driveway before he turned towards the steps. He looked up to see Stiles sitting on the top step; his face was one of disbelief but also endless hope.

Stiles was too used to being hollow and empty. He was too used to feeling the tightening pain in his chest whenever he thought about Derek. But he had accepted what happened to Derek. He had moved through the motions, as much as they hurt him to do them, and he had come out on the other side. And to have Derek standing in front of him now flipped everything onto its head.

Stiles had become accustomed to dreams where Derek came back. He’d cry and beg to know what happened. Derek would always smile and tell him he was sorry for making him cry. He’d sit there and listen to Derek explain that it didn’t matter why he left, just that he was back. He only understood that when he woke it was all just a dream.

Derek remained silent, giving Stiles time to process everything—giving him space to accept that Derek was there in front of him. He watched Stiles worry his lip as he moved lingered on the steps. He immediately caught the exhaustion circling Stiles’ eyes as he looked up at him.

“I’m going to go sit down,” Stiles weakly stated. “Because I feel like I’m about to collapse. But I, uh, I want to talk. If that’s—”

“Whatever you want,” Derek immediately replied.

Stiles closed his eyes, a small shudder falling through his body as he took in Derek’s voice. It was real. Derek was standing at the bottom of his stairs, in his house, and he was speaking to him. He was alive.

Stiles slowly made his way to his room after he saw Derek take the first few steps up the stairs, closing the gap between them. He kept Derek in his peripheral, determined to not let him out of his sight completely. He moved to sit on his bed, tucking his leg under him. He watched Derek linger in the doorway, eyes quickly scanning the room.

Derek was uncertain just how close he could get to Stiles. He wanted to touch him. He wanted to hold him close and never let go. But he didn’t want to overwhelm him. He didn’t want hurt him more.

“Come closer,” Stiles voice was barely louder than a whisper.

Derek silently obeyed, moving to stand a foot in front of Stiles. He crossed his arms over his chest, not knowing what to do with himself besides silently standing there at Stiles request.

Stiles raked his eyes over Derek, taking in his form. He looked the same. His eyes were still their gorgeous green. His hair was still short and looked as smooth as Stiles remembered it being under his fingertips. His beard was still as thick as it was the last time he saw him. He was the same, only this time, his chest was rising and falling, and there were no gaping holes there. It was so unlike the last time, and Stiles couldn’t thank enough higher powers for that.

“I have something to show you,” Stiles stated, looking up from Derek’s chest to his eyes. He began to stand once Derek softly nodded in response. He closed his eyes as he stood, almost chest-to-chest with Derek. Even with the gap between them, he could feel the warmth of his body. He pulled the hem of his shirt up over his head, discarding the shirt onto the floor. He slowly opened his eyes, gaging Derek’s reaction.

Derek was staring at Stiles’ chest, his eyes falling on the tattoo over his chest. It was Derek’s triskelion. Its black swirls moved across Stiles’ pectoral, just over his heart. It was exactly where Derek had been shot.

“Three bullets, three spirals,” Stiles started.

“Stiles,” Derek’s voice was hoarse, croaking under the pressure.

“I know you said it stands for your past, present, and future,” Stiles replied, looking up at Derek. “And the fact is, you’re it for me. You’re those three things for me too.” He didn’t bother trying to hold back the tear that slid down his cheek. He didn’t have to hide it anymore. Derek wouldn’t let him hide it.

Stiles closed his eyes as Derek’s hand gently cupped his cheek, his thumb brushing away his tear. He leaned into Derek’s touch, smiling as he released a shaky breath. He opened his eyes to see Derek looking down at his tattoo, his other hand moving to touch the inked skin.

Derek recoiled his fingers briefly, looking up at Stiles for permission. He wanted nothing more than to hold him, but Stiles had already given him permission to cup his cheek. To touch any other part of him felt as if he was overstepping some boundary. He didn’t want to overwhelm Stiles.

Stiles only smiled at him, his fingers slipping around Derek’s wrist as he moved his hand to touch the tattoo. He gently rubbed circles into Derek’s wrist as his hand lingered over the mark. His tattoo ignited under the warmth of Derek’s palm.

Stiles watched Derek’s face as he inspected the tattoo. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead to Derek’s as they both calmly inhaled. Derek’s fingertips grazed over the spirals.

“Past. Present. Future,” Stiles breathed with every spiral Derek traced. “That’s what you are for me.”

“I meant it,” Derek stated, his head turning into the comfort of feeling Stiles’ skin against him. “What I said at my grave, I meant it. I’ll always love you, Stiles.”

Once the words were said, Stiles released a weak laugh that slowly turned into a sob as more tears fell.

“I never thought I’d hold you again,” Derek added.

It was like a floodgate had opened.

They were clinging to each other, pressing tightly together until there was no room between them. Stiles nails dug into Derek’s skin as he latched onto him. He wanted to make sure Derek was anchored, and that there was nothing that was going to take him away. Derek buried his head in the hollow of Stiles’ throat, never wanting to leave as he wrapped his arms around Stiles.

Derek let Stiles pull his face away from him. He let his hands firmly grip his face as they kissed. He let his own tears fall as he felt Stiles’ heartbeat against his chest; as he accepted that it was real.

It wasn’t rushed like Derek had expected it to be. It was soft and loving, chaste but passionate. It was everything they didn’t get to say.

They ignored the clock, though finally moving to recline on the bed when they started to hear birds chirping loudly outside Stiles’ window. Stiles pulled the blankets up around their legs, tucking himself into Derek’s chest as he was determined to keep him pinned under him if it meant that he wouldn’t disappear. And Derek let him.

Stiles left his eyes open as he pressed his cheek into Derek’s chest even harder. He wanted drift off to sleep with the sound of Derek’s heartbeat in his ear; with the feeling of Derek’s chest rising and falling with breath under his head. His eyes focused on the way Derek tangled their fingers together. He focused on the feeling of Derek’s fingertips running up and down his spine.

“Don’t leave before I wake up,” Stiles stated into Derek’s chest.

“I’m never leaving your side again,” Derek softly spoke against Stiles’ hair before tucking the top of his head just under his chin.

Stiles felt a smile covering his lips, sleep quickly taking over him as he heard the distant sound of Derek gently stating, “You’re the greatest thing to ever happen to me.”

“I love you, Derek,” Stiles easily stated, willingly closing his eyes.

“I love you, Stiles,” Derek echoed.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to join me on tumblr:
> 
> [drunklightning](http://drunklightning.tumblr.com) is my blog where I reblog anything I find of interest.
> 
> [dexterous-sinistrous](http://dexterous-sinistrous.tumblr.com) is suited towards my ramblings about my writing, and NSFW. (It's where I serenade myself about Sterek). It's my trashcan of emotions. Feel free to stop by and say hi, criticize me, make incoherent noises with me, whatevs.
> 
> [Send](http://dexterous-sinistrous.tumblr.com/ask) me any prompts you think you'd like to have me write!


End file.
